Tortured Optimist
His whirling blue and yellow
His quiet city sleeping
The hot fire sky touches the mountain
Dusting the world with peace
My whirling mind of fear
My eyes alive and burrdened
The yellow fire twists in my side
Until I see Van Gough
They tell you he painted with a melancholy hand
That his eyes were filled with tears
You never hear the story of hope
Behind the night fire sky
They tell me anxiety isn’t reality
That to fix it is to breath
You only hear it’s inside your head
Behind the glass in your eyes
My soul is calmed at the sight of his hand
The thick strokes make my heart still
The canvas holds the heart of the healing
The proof of the tortured optimist